


beast of burden

by trasharama



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Blackmail, Breeding, Come Marking, Dubious Consent, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Pregnancy, Rich Ben Solo, Rich Rey, and a border collie, and he hates pugs, ben wants a white picket fence, blowjob, but like future pregnancy none in this fic, dubcon turned enthusiastic consent, only ben doesn't think they're friends, slight dubcon, succession
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:21:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27577124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trasharama/pseuds/trasharama
Summary: Rey thinks they're best friends.She invites him to brunch on Sundays and gabs about her week, and sips too many mimosas from sparkling champagne flutes in front of him because she knows that he’s trustworthy. A good man. A friend.He’s Snoke’s protégé, and she’s Palpatine’s granddaughter, and they are a friendship match from Heaven, he and her.That’s what she thinks.
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo
Comments: 30
Kudos: 356





	beast of burden

**Author's Note:**

> tbh im not sure what this is
> 
> tysm to my favorite in the world Kat for the moodboard, and to tofu for cheering me along and also stopping me from posting this last night unfinished
> 
> i love figs

Rey thinks they're best friends.

She invites him to brunch on Sundays and gabs about her week, and sips too many mimosas from sparkling champagne flutes in front of him because she knows that he’s _trustworthy_. A _good man_. A _friend_.

He’s Snoke’s protégé, and she’s Palpatine’s granddaughter, and they are a friendship match from Heaven, he and her.

_That's_ what she thinks.

Sometimes, she tells him about her trysts with a naivety that couldn’t possibly be faked. She tells him that no one’s ever gone down on her in the right way; that she’s never come with another person; that giving blowjobs is the worst, makes her jaw hurt and ache the next morning; that she doesn’t _get it_ , the hype around it all, because that stretch she reads about in her shitty romance novels--it’s just not real.

And he sits there without fail every week; bides his time, eggs benedict congealing in front of him.

Waiting.

He’s going to have her someday.

_All_ of her.

The perfect moment arises one dramatic Friday, when she calls him, asks if he’d meet her at the office--during business hours, nonetheless. He gets there before her, and her secretary offers to let him sit inside the office on her couch, until she rushes inside a few minutes later with a manila envelope in one hand and grandpa’s credit card in the other.

It’s a familiar image; she’s done this once before, and what she asked him to do wasn’t simple or easy by any means.

So little Rey Palpatine needs a _favor_.

She doesn't feel _that_ bad for asking, clearly. Her eyes are round and shining in that _I'm but an innocent little lamb_ look she's perfected over the years, head tilted to the left, as though the slight change in position from the _last_ time she asked for a favor might trick him into doing it for free again.

But Ben Solo is no saint. He's no fucking _beta-cuck_. The fact that she's even asking a second time means he's let this dynamic slide for far too long.

It's time for a change.

She hands him the envelope, stuffs her black card back in a pocket. He stares at it in his hand, hefty with weight, resting on his knees. He presses his teeth into his cheek and lifts his gaze up an inch to watch her.

Anxious, shifting from one food to the other. Expectant, arms crossed over her chest. Her nipples are poking out from the fabric; she’s a braless, brave little thing.

"I'll do it," he says, stretching the words out like a piece of taffy; slow; savoring the moment; watching the relief on her face fade to caution; "for a price."

It throws her off the game. Her candy-sweet smile falters into something shocked and cold. "What are you? The devil?"

The smile on his face is hardly that, smarmy and slick as it is. And with a single inhale: "I'll do it if you get on your knees for me. Where good girls belong."

She scoffs and rolls her eyes. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m not sure,” he says, leaning forward, “where you got the impression that I’m a nice guy. I am far from nice, Rey. I don’t do pretty girls favors and expect nothing in return.”

“But--”

“I’m cashing it in, now.”

“I don’t--”

“You’ll suck me off right now, swallow my fucking load on this couch and go into your board meeting stinking of me. That’s for the _last_ favor.”

“Ben, I don’t think this is appropriate.”

“And when you get back, I’ll spread you naked and wide on your desk and do whatever I want to your pretty little cunt. That’s for _this_ favor.”

He’s aching in his pants, straining against the zipper. With a hand pressed against it, he adjusts himself, and watches her stare with parted lips. Her suit is so neatly pressed, crisp edges, tight skirt hugging her hips. It’s _delectable_ , watching her tongue dart out, her hands shake around her waist.

“Unbutton your shirt for me,” he demands, and _oh_ , the satisfaction he gets from watching her _do it_. She fumbles with the first set of two, and keeps going, slow and steady, down to the third, and just when the red of her bra is peeking out, he holds up a hand. “On your knees, Rey. Crawl over here.”

“I can’t believe you’re making me do this,” she mutters, face flaming as she sinks down and inches forward on her hands. “I never thought--”

“I don’t think you mind it so much,” he interrupts when she reaches him. He cups her chin with a hand, stuffs her mouth full of his fingers. “Show me what you’re going to do with your mouth on my cock, sweetheart. Suck.”

He pumps his thumb against her tongue, gags her with his index finger, hooks his ring finger around her cheeks and flips her throat off with the middle.

“I like a really wet blowjob.” He grabs one of her hands and presses it against his cock. “Pull me out and spit.”

He just about combusts around her dainty fingers as they wrap themselves around him, exposing him to the air. She’s so small, her fingers so long and thin, painted a dark green and filed down to short nubs. Her skin is soft and warm. It’s enough.

Almost.

“Spit, sweetheart,” he reminds her. It does good things for his already large ego, seeing how she freezes at the sight of him, stately and naked and hard all for her. “Spit. _Now_ , Rey.”

That’s all a good girl needs, afterall; a stern tone, a severe prompting. She pools it all in her mouth before leaning down, letting it dribble onto the head of his cock. Her thumb spreads it downwards, like a topcoat for paint, layering them together.

“There we go,” he says through gritted teeth. His hand threads itself into the hair at the nape of her neck, and pushes her downward until her lips are swallowing him to the hilt. “ _Fuck_ , that’s so good, baby, so good. Keep it there--yes, just like that, just for another second-- _God_ , want to fill you up, want you pumped with my come and fucking _round_ with my kid, want to make you mine and, _and fuck--_ ”

She wrenches her head out of his grip to stare. “You want me… _round with your kid_?” she quotes back, incredulous. 

The hand still wrapped in her hair strokes her scalp, and he grins. “Should’ve said _kids_.”

“I don’t--can’t--”

“We always knew it would come to this, didn’t we?”

“Ben, this is too much--”

“Want your mouth back on me,” he interrupts. “Stick your tongue out.”

“Why would I do that?” she nearly yells, scrambling back on her knees; she doesn’t get far, his grip still taut on her neck. “You’re--this is _nuts!”_

“I have all the money in the fucking world, Rey,” Ben hisses at her. He stands up, bringing her hair with him, and takes two steps forward so she’s bracketed between his knees, tangled in his limbs and looking far, far up at him. “I want something money can’t buy. I want you and a fucking house with a picket fence and little kids with my hair and your eyes running around a grassy yard. Maybe even a dog. A border collie. Not a fucking pug, or that doodle bullshit. I want you barefoot in the living room and sunlight hitting your face, and if I can’t have that, I should at least get _this_. So I’m asking you nicely: stick out your tongue.”

It looks like she has a hard time deciding what to do; her face is a rainbow of expressions for a solid, silent thirty seconds. At one point, her lips twitch into a fleeting smile, and she looks down at the floor, takes a deep breath, and turns back to him, tongue flat and wide and hanging past her lips.

“Thank fuck.” He bats his cock on her tongue, experiments with a couple of slaps to her cheeks. “Take it all again.”

She swallows him whole, and gags like the champ she is when he thrusts forward, hits her throat on purpose. Her cheeks are flushed and her breaths are gasps and her lips are swollen.

“Want to see your tits,” he says, pulling her off and pushing her back so she falls on her ass. “Let me see them.” She doesn’t move, stunned. “ _Please_.”

This woman with rug burn on her knees unbuttons her shirt the rest of the way, just like he asks, not bothering to break eye contact; his girl isn’t a shy one, he’s always known that.

“Is this what you think about at night, Ben?” she asks, demure, lashes fluttering. “Do you think about all of the ways you could get me stripped naked for you? Do you touch yourself in your shower to the thought of bending me over a couch and touching my cunt?”

His mouth goes dry as she pulls her arms out of her blouse.

“I asked you a question, Ben,” she prods. “Can’t give you my tits until you’ve answered them.”

“I…” Her flesh is pebbled with goosebumps, and her bare breasts are right there, nipples hard, rosy, begging for attention. “What--what was the question?”

“Do you want to lick them, Ben?”

“Your tits?” he demands. “Of course I do, Rey.”

He wishes he knew how it happened, how she turned the tables on him so quickly; he was so in control just thirty seconds ago, and now she’s demanding answers from him, and he can’t form a thought that extends further than _boob_ and _girl_ and _suck._

He’s Ben fucking Solo, dammit. There’s no reason the sight of a pair of tits should render him this boyish, no matter how perky and round and soft they look.

“Crawl over here,” he manages to say. “I like you on your knees. Put your nipple in my mouth.”

He’s never seen her move faster. She crawls with her chest low to the ground, back arched high while he plops down on the couch. It’s mesmerizing, this change in her; she moves her hips, parts her lips, stares at him with wide, blown pupils. How is she… 

“Real--” he whispers, almost _whimpers_ , when she lifts herself up on his lap, settles into him, and presses a nipple against the corner of his lip.

So obedient, Rey fucking Palpatine.

“You’re so good,” he grits out, “love watching your mouth ride my cock, love choking you with it.” Of their own volition, his hands reach out, wind around her neck, apply the slightest bit of pressure. Her breath hitches and her gaze flickers to his; he’s about to retreat, admit defeat, bet he _nice guy_ , but she nods in assent, moans a depraved sound, and presses her neck into his palm.

It’s enough to send him flying: he devours her so completely, tonguing her right nipple, plucking at the left with his free fingers. The _sounds_ she makes, so pitched, the most authentic thing he’s ever heard; unhinged, raw.

When he makes his way under her pants, tugging the scrap of lace fabric underneath aside, his index finger comes back soaked; he pulls himself away from her chest, barely, to taste her--musky, sweet, and _all her_.

“What would you think,” he murmurs against her tit, stuffing his finger back down her pants and coming back up for air, “about licking my come off your own tits?”

“What?” she snaps through a moan.

“I can’t decide whether I think you should wear it, or if I want you filled with it. Might be a waste to pump you full of my come if you’re not going to reproduce with it, no?”

“I…”

“So which is it, Rey? Do you want to lick my come off your tits, or do you want it dripping out of you, after I eat you till you burst?”

“Ben,” she practically wails, voice cracking. “Ben, what--whatever you want, please--”

He traces her cunt with feather-light fingertips and sucks at her neck, curved high and proud all for him. Hands scrabble at his neck, tether themselves in his hair. She’s writhing on his lap, into his fingers, and she’s never been a fidgety girl, but she’s unrecognizable, a creature beholden to nothing but instinctual needs.

“I want to taste you,” he says, adding with an unfamiliar cringe, “from the source.”

It does the job for her, though, because she fumbles with her pants at a speed he didn’t know was possible, strips herself bare from top down and settles on her back at the foot of the couch. She’s spread open wide, leg resting over the stiff back of the furniture, forcing him to zero in on the thing he’s been imagining for years.

Her cunt glistens and shines and drips between her legs.

It’s like a siren’s call to him. He settles himself at the apex of her thighs, licks a long path up her thigh to press against her folds. Watching her mewl and writhe under his gaze and grip is an absurd reality; he can’t believe how crazed she is, how _loud_ she is.

He can’t decide if he’s grateful her office is soundproofed after her brother Poe fucked one too many people in his own ( _and_ Rey’s, the animal), or if he wishes he could show it all off to the office, stake his claim, make it clear to everyone and anyone that she’s finally, _finally_ his.

“Look at you, all wet for me, hmm?” he asks, blowing a cool stream of air against her.

“ _Please, please, Ben, fuck--”_ she wails, voice hoarse, pulling a genuine chuckle out of him.

“You sound cute when you beg. Desperate like a whore. I love it. But I’ll only lick you if you’re quiet.”

He looks up at her and sees her eyes blown wide, staring at him, chest heaving, hands trembling. With a lot of effort, she quiets down, takes two deep breaths like she learned in pilates to center herself. He doesn’t think it’ll take much to get her over the edge, not with how obviously pent up she actually is. 

Ben starts by licking a long stripe from hole to hole to clit.

Rey breaks and keens a loud, anguished sob.

He’s no saint, and no beta-cuck, as has been established by this entire tryst. But he’s not ruthless, either, and he wonders out loud how fast he can make her come.

“What do you think, sweetheart?” he asks. “Three licks on your clit and you’ll be gone? Maybe two? How has no one ever made you come like this before?”

He leans down and suckles at her, flipping the hood of her clit up and down. The tell-tale signs of a girl gone wild are there, ripe for observation; clenched thighs around his head, dangling feet shaking of their own accord, hands tangled in his hair. He’s never really been one for _touching_ , vastly preferring to keep his short-lived partners tied up and helpless, and he wants to do that with Rey, too, but maybe there are merits to this whole romance thing.

That’s what this feels like.

_Romantic_.

It takes a little more than three licks; five minutes, maybe more, he loses track of time in a way he didn’t expect, lost in the taste of her, the feel of her soft skin on his lips. She writhes against his face and bucks against his tongue, drips to the back of his throat and coats him in herself.

“ _Ben_ ,” she breathes, voice pitching higher, “oh, God, fuck, _fuck_ , I’m going to come! Please, _please, please, please, please, please--”_

There’s a meek little knock on the door, probably from Rey’s secretary, just as she convulses around him, gasping and breaking. She’s almost _yelling_ , and it all goes unnoticed, the reminder for her board meeting, the stakes of missing even one family gathering.

She doesn’t give a shit, it seems, and he says as much: “Never knew my Rey Palpatine would be such a hopeless slut for me.”

“Yes,” she nods, “all for you, Ben, can you _please_ fuck me now?”

“Now?”

“ _Yes.”_

He likes it when she begs. Who wouldn’t? “Tell me what you want.”

“I--” she cuts herself off and turns the loveliest shade of red, the flush trailing down to her chest. Then she breathes, a low and steady thing, and pulls his hair, dragging him along her body until their faces are level. “I want you to fuck me,” she says, and he can smell the mint on her breath, “I want you to fill me up,” she says, and his lips brush hers, “I want you to come inside of me, as much as you can.”

The gasp he emits is completely involuntary. “Are you on birth control?”

“I’ll get my IUD out,” she whispers, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his lip. “Wouldn’t want to waste your come, _never_.”

He almost comes from just hearing that, soft and honest as it is. Rey lifts her ass and wraps her legs around his waist, helping his cock press against the pliant folds of her cunt. He’s inside of her in one fell swoop, feeling her stretch beyond a limit; he doesn’t have time to let her adjust, with just one thing on his mind.

_Need to come inside of you. Need to rip your birth control out of you myself and get you nice and big and round in a great big house today._

“I’ll go to the doctor today,” she says, like she can read his thoughts. “Will suck you off every morning--”

“Thought you hated the ache of a blowjob,” he quips into her neck.

“Not the one you leave.” She wails in his ear when he snaps his hips against hers. “Will let you buy me that house with the picket fence and pump me full of your kids, just like you want. Will do whatever just to--to get you to--to _fucking stay_.”

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” he roars. He can’t believe he’s coming inside of her, can’t believe the words she just said, can’t believe this is a reality at all. His hips stutter against hers. She nods along while he fingers at her clit, pulling out another orgasm with lazy strokes. “You’re going to drip with my come every single hour of the day, Rey. Not a single moment you won’t be filled with me anymore.”

“Not a single moment,” she repeats, dazed as he rolls off of her.

She’s such a vision. Her hair is haloed around her face, legs limp and arms curled on her stomach. He sees some of his come dripping out of her, and he pumps a finger in, scoops it back into its rightful place while she lays there, sated, still, the most depraved he’s ever seen her.

“Do you want to get lunch?” he asks when he’s finished, pulling her underwear back up her legs. “You look like you could use a mimosa."

She smiles bright and wide.

It’s almost… awe-inspiring.

Rey thinks they’re best friends, and Ben thinks maybe she’s been right all along.


End file.
